Fair Torture
by Twisting Beliefs
Summary: Not all agree with the Thalmor... M for swearing and torture- NOT THAT KIND OF TORTURE SICKO!


The next one is being dragged in, kicking and screaming. The non-believer keeps on fighting, but the will shall break soon enough. I know.

I hear the shouts. "The Champoion of Cyrodiil ended the Oblivion Crisis!" is probably what's being said. The shouts are so garbled, though, that I cannot make out a single thing. Why do they shout? All it does is sap their will to fight. It's the quiet ones that stand tall; those are the ones that give me the most difficulty. All the more satisfaction for when I break them, sadly enough.

I finish reading the biography of the new one's life, as I hear the servants that brought this male- for it was a male- cackling as they left the room. I did not catch what they were saying, but I can safely assume that the words hit home, as the screaming stops. Thank goodness; I risk having to go deaf in this job. As my mother and father can attest.

I slowly walk out of my study, into the room. He is strapped onto an oddly placed slab, designed for maximum discomfort. Various objects hang around the room, but they are for show (as is my black mage robe). Mostly. The objects I DO use are behind him- if it comes to that. Ah, this will be interesting yet again.

"How has your day been?"

"Why would you want to know, BITCH!" I hear him scream. Males always try to use my gender to bargain their way out. It never works.

"My, someone is impolite. Do you want me to reeducate you, sir, on a proper form of speaking?"

"NO."

"Too bad for you then. Now, my name is not important, but yours is. What is it?" I already knew the name was Aldaril, (ironic, considering a co-worker of mine I dislike is also named that) but his admitting his name was an indicator of when he would snap. Which was a good thing; Aldaril is the last one for the day.

"No name for you, bitch!"

"Ugh, I am just trying to have common courtesy, as you should undoubtedly do... Al-da-ril." I can't resist a sneer. His face paled at the sound of his name; breaking him would get easier. But, I have delayed long enough. Either that, or I am thinking in Orc... er, orismer life-spans. I suppose that is why the Thalmor love my skill in this practice- I get things done much quicker by thinking like I never have enough time, like the orismer... damn, I need to eliminate my lock on the orismer. "Now, tell me Aldaril," I began, "who ended the invasion of Mehrunes Dagon?"

"THE CHAMPION OF CYRODIIL ENDED THE OBLIVION CRISIS! ALL YOU THALMOR DID WAS JUST RUIN SELECT AREAS OF SUMMERSET!" That was a bit too loud for my taste, but perhaps it meant he was weakened by those that went before him. I hope for this; the hour is late.

"Wrong," I say, and I remove my hood. He noticeably gasps, and I feel terrible again. Why does it always take my face? So what I have the skin and eyes of the Dunmer, squared ears, and burn scars everywhere? At least, my upper back and everything from the hip down could still be considered Altmer. No scars or anything in those spots.

Don't think about it, dammit, you're on the job...

"Are you even Thalmor!" I hear him say.

"Not all people in this position are Thalmor. That being said, I am an Altmer, despite my looks."

"I don't believe it!"

"Will you believe me now?" I say as I shoot frost and cast a spell that will make him more fearful. I suppose turning into a person that is almost god-like is a boon- YOU. ARE. WORKING.

"Agggggggggggh!"

"Who ended the invasion of Mehrunes Dagon?"  
>"... the Champion of Cyrodiil ended the Oblivion Crisis, BITCH!" I decide to punish him. I cast a more potent fearful spell, and proceed to shoot Flames. Another reason why I'm glad to torture males? I can hit them in a certain lower area that is sure to hurt him.<p>

"LAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa..." His voice peters out into a mouse's; a good sign. On my part, of course. I love having males take Flames to their groins. So… evens the odds. Unlike knee attacks.

"Who ended the invasion of Mehrunes Dagon?"

"... Cyrodiil." That's it, it's late and I want to cut this short. I go behind him and grab my two most powerful electrical staffs; I still have some work to do with my own Sparks spell.

"Who ended the invasion of Mehrunes Dagon?"

"The Oblivion Crisis was ended by the Champion of Cyrodiil, with Martin SEPTIM."

I shoot.

"!"

"I'm still waiting for the correct answer, sir."

"...I doubt you'll find it. The champion of- !"

"You know, I DON'T mind continuing this ritual all night. I am doing nothing tomorrow. You, however, seem like that you don't have very long. The answer. NOW."

"Cha-!"

"What was that? I don't understand you."

"The one to end the Obli- !"  
>"What was that? I say as I stop the staff; good thing, as it would've needed more soul gems otherwise.<p>

"The Thalmor ended the invasion of Mehrunes Dagon..." Aldaril panted, it was clear he broke.

"Correct. Guards! Deal with him, he's done! And I'm done for the night!" It was really early evening, but things always seem more sinister in the dark. The two from earlier entered and took Aldaril as he was dragged back to his cell, where… reeducation into the world would continue quite nicely. As for me, I go back to my study and gather my materials. I stop as I notice a scrap note.

It's dear to me, to say the least. I still remember how I got it. I remember being overflowed with joy that I was stunned speechless by it. But then... I don't get why I hold on to this scrap; it's only half.

I still take the scrap with me, and I walk through the chamber and out the door. I pause as I turn and look at the door number. 101... probably not significant in the slightest. I walk off, back home. Mother and Father are waiting.


End file.
